


long days and cliché byplays

by hellopurpletiger (Felix_Kawaii)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Coffee Shop, Cute, Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, Pre-Slash, fluffy feels, my russian is bad, repost from tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felix_Kawaii/pseuds/hellopurpletiger
Summary: In which there are a few coincidences, broken dishes and a faceplant in the middle of a café -- and that's just the start of it...





	1. Chapter 1

It’s the last day of January. The skies overhead are dark and the moon and stars are shining brightly like shattered glass thrown high above. The “Windy City” lives up to its name, Yuuri thinks as he trudges up the rain-slicked, wind-swept sidewalks, glistening blurrily through the distorting droplets on his glasses. It’s probably about half past nine, he thinks, as he passes the lamppost with purple graffiti scrawled up its sides, though not without nearly walking into it. It’s pouring too heavily to bring out his phone to check the time. His coat feels sodden right through to his work uniform, equipped for wind but not for rain, and his backpack lies heavily between his shoulder blades.

 

His shift had finished less than half an hour ago, but thankfully Minako had ushered him out, staying back herself to lock up the coffee shop. He’d packed his stuff and headed out as soon as possible but it was beginning to look like it had been a wasted effort. His umbrella had blown inside out the moment he’d opened it and one of its metal ribs had snapped or something because it wouldn’t go back to its usual shape nor would it close – he’d dumped it in a nearby trashcan.

 

The whole day had sucked. He’d woken up that very morning to the sound of his next-door neighbour (it was a cheap apartment complex, the walls were stupidly thin) belting out a Pavarotti-style opera duet with his super loud dog and having slept through his alarm, about to miss the bus to college. With no time to eat breakfast or make lunch, he’d arrived to his Economics lecture late, hungry and _very_ cranky. And to make matters worse, back-to-back classes until two o’ clock and in his last class (a Maths seminar) his professor had asked him to stay behind to discuss his last essay.

 

Which then made him late to his shift at the Café. Minako had taken one look at his pale face, eyebags and the general mess that was his disorganized life and chucked him in the backroom with two shots of espresso, a pile of cheese toasties and a tall glass of water and locked him in until he’d finished everything and “sorted his shit out.” And then he’d emerged and gotten back to _work_.

 

…just in time to be bombarded by the crazy rush of customers from the public skate session at the nearby Chicago Vicino Ice Rink, looking for something for their bellies and a place to warm up now that public hours were over.

 

Hordes of screaming kids demanding this and that --juice, chips, sandwiches and sweets-- whilst their parents stood behind them, looking combinations of frazzled and frustrated, tempers fraying. Teenagers trying to play it cool but taking forever to choose between a Vanilla Hot Chocolate or a Hazelnut Hot Chocolate. Pre-teens gathering in clusters and making bulky orders and ramping noise levels up. Couples on dates, whipping out coupons for “couple specials” or worse, excessive PDA.

 

Of course, there were _some_ nice customers who had been kind and patient, but there had been a massive kids party at the rink today and twenty screaming six year olds had taken over the little café for a good two hours.

 

Thankfully, numbers had dropped by five o’ clock and he’d managed to bring out his books from the backroom and redo some of those calculations he’d gotten wrong in his last maths assignment.

 

So finally, his day was getting back on track when _Tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle and Pumpkin and Sunflower Seed Oat Cookie_ walked in, the little chime above the door echoing through the mostly quiet shop. He was a regular, and came in every day at around 7PM near the end of the professional skate session times. _Tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle_ – or just _Caramel Drizzle_ as Minako called him when she tried to tease Yuuri about his absolutely, non-existent crush on the silver haired, tall, beautif –

 

It was absolutely not professional to fancy your customers and besides, he didn’t have a crush, he – he just appreciated the aesthetic. Yeah.

 

 _Caramel Drizzle_ always ordered exactly what his name was “Tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle and a pumpkin and sunflower seed oat cookie, please.” Minako had taken his order with a sly, read: COMPLETELY OBVIOUS, side-eye glance and smirk directed straight at her most loyal barista. Yuuri could still feel the flaming blush on the back of his neck even now, nearly three hours later.

 

Anyway long story short, he’d been about to take over the cookie on a plate – having vigorously checked it over for signs of Minako doing _something_ devious, like baking his number on the bottom or something – and he’d looked up just as _Caramel Drizzle_ was _laughing_. His sports jacket was crumpled over the back of his chair and his ice skates could be seen peaking from his slightly open duffel bag, his arms were gesturing wildly. His mouth was agape in a slight heart shape, and his eyes were bright as he brought a scowling blonde boy under his arm, squishing their cheeks together. His hair had glittered like actual strands of moonlight, illuminated by the muted backlight of the streetlamps outside, alabaster cheeks flushing prettily pink with cheer and the warmth of his drink like something out of a Disney classic…

 

 _…It might be more than aesthetic,_ he thought suddenly _._

 

And just like that he’d faceplanted on the floor on the other side of the café, face burning and a flush of shame and maybe something else crawling up his neck and sparking at the tips of his ears. The cookie skidding under another table, and the plate breaking into pieces on the floor.

 

 

Yeah, he still wants to slam himself into a wall from the shame of it.

 

At least the day’s nearly over now, he thinks, as his apartment block’s main door comes into view. At last. The rain’s finally letting up, just a soft distant patter compared to the deafening roar from before. And the wind is quieter now, too. He thrusts his fingers into his coat pocket, feeling around in the soggy insides for his keys, tangled in earphone wires and wet receipts.

 

Right now, all he wants is a nice hot cup of tea, some food and his _gorgeous_ bed, and… _why_ do his keys hate him so. Unsuccessfully, he jams it towards the general direction of the lock, squinting past his still rain-blurred glasses.

 

“C’mon!” He half groans, half yells. His earphones clack against the door, some of the wire still wrapped around the body of the key. He just wants to sleep and pretend today never happene –

 _“OSTOROZHNO!”_  A panicked voice yells suddenly.

 

Yuuri jolts upright.

Something white drops in the corner of his eye. Hard ceramic shatters on the concrete, into fragments and pieces scattering with force. His ankle stings sharply.

 

Footsteps thunder from inside the building, and suddenly the key is wrenched from Yuuri’s hand as the door flies open hard enough to bang on its hinges.

 

“Oh my god, are you alright?! I’m so sorry! I just knocked the mug off the ledge and – “

 

Yuuri _stares_.

 

_Shit._

SHIT.

 

“Hey, you work at Poco a Poco, by the Vicino Rink, right?” _Caramel Drizzle_ points loosely at him, dressed in a band tee and clashing white and blue striped boxers.

 

**_SHIT._ **


	2. chapter 2: his name is viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's had an awful day, he's been worked to the bone at uni and at work, rained on all the way home and nearly killed by a homicidal mug and it's really hot owner - who, oh look, is his favourite customer...and then the whole day gets even more hysterical.

**CHAPTER 2: His name is Viktor**

For one long moment, both of them simply stared at each other. All Yuuri could hear around them was the sound of the wind and the sound of expletives ringing loudly in his head. The question took a moment to take hold, what with _beautiful-possibly-not-just-aesthetic-CARAMEL-FREAKING-DRIZZLE_ leaning against the doorway of _his freaking apartment block_ looking distinctly like someone out of Phichit’s romcoms!

 

“Uhm, ye-of cour-that’s me!” He blurted, and then immediately felt a horrible flush creeping up his neck and burning the tips of his ears. Caramel Drizzle was only in his boxers, blue sailor stripes clashing horribly with a lavender and orange band tee, hung close to his hips, he noted faintly and promptly set off further blushing. And then, as if his brain-to-mouth functions seem to have died a swift death and then wished to be revived for more death and torturing him – his mouth spewed, “Tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle and Pumpkin and Sunflower Seed Oat Cookie…r-right?”

 

Because it wasn’t at all weird to have memorized the entire order at all. Didn’t make him sound like some creep, no siree, not at all…

 

 _Caramel Drizzle’s_ face blanked for a moment -  Yuuri faintly wondered if he was going to need Phichit to bail him out of jail for being some crazy stalker -  and then his mouth made a faint round ‘o’, bright blue eyes suddenly widening with a loud gasp. “I ALMOST KILLED MY FAVOURITE SERVER!” He let out with a loud wail, arms shooting out to grasp Yuuri by the shoulders. “You make my order every day and I nearly kill you!” He frantically scanned Yuuri for injuries.

 

 _…f-favourite?_ Yuuri felt faint, he glanced down towards the floor.

They both noticed the blood at the same time, a penny sized stain spreading near the hem of his mismatched pea-green sock.

 

Somewhere behind the entryway, a dog barked loudly.

 

And maybe it was from all the lifts that Caramel Drizzle probably knew how to do on the ice rink or maybe it was just his shitty day going absolutely ballistic - the beautiful and fashion-disadvantaged Russian swept him off his feet, did a 180-degree pirouette in the stairwell and ran up the stairs clutching Yuuri like a bride.

 

Reflex made him immediately lope hands round his neck, eyes wide in shock and more than a little disbelief.

 

It’s not like Yuuri had ever spoken to the man before. Their only interactions were when he mumbled the order allowed as he placed the items on the table. So, he hadn’t built up a personality in his head for Mr C.D. per say, just that he hadn’t exactly been expecting the… drama?

 

Because it took Yuuri sixty seconds to realise that Caramel Drizzle was a _drama queen._

 

C.D. kicked the door open with a solid kick, a brown shape whizzing past them into the man’s flat. Immediately, he was deposited on a particularly expensive looking leather couch and C.D disappeared around the corner, muttering quickly.

 

His apartment was stunning. Exposed brick juxtaposed with white walls and untreated woods made it look like something from out of a home magazine. The space was very open plan – the living room area melded seamlessly with the kitchen-dining space. The couch he was bleeding over was made of rich brown leather, and beneath that a soft looking rug that looked like it would be heaven to sink barefoot into. In the centre of the exposed brick wall was a delicate but stately looking grandfather clock, it’s pendulum swaying behind the glass.

 

It was difficult to believe they lived in the same apartment block.

 

“…Are…these…plasters alright?” Mr C.D emerged, with a green box in hand and a pack of plasters in the other.

 

Yuuri nodded soundlessly as he approached.

 

“I don’t really tend to use these plasters a lot,” The silver-haired man rubbed his neck as he knelt to the floor. His fingers held Yuuri’s knee gently but firmly whilst the other hand ripped open an antiseptic wipe. “We usually have first aid things at the rink, so I usually use theirs, Yakov gets really mad.”

 

He dabbed the wipe against the cut. It stung a little but, to be honest, Yuuri was a little too preoccupied to pay it too much heed. Victor’s hands were slightly calloused and the whorls of fingertips were a little rough. More than ever, Yuuri wondered if he should have shaved his legs, because Asian men have dark body hair, which he had just realised could be seen by his crush. Was it weird for men to shave their legs? Or was it weirder to have been crushing on a guy, he turns out to be living in the same block as you, he’s touching your leg platonically, you’re getting goosebumps and the leg hairs are rising?

 

He was maybe a little hysterical.

 

Yuuri shivered. “So…” He bit his lip, “Do you…work…at the ice rink?”

 

“Mmm,” C.D hummed, “I’m training as a coach.”

 

“…oh…” A coach. Yuuri could see that. It was quite easy to imagine a suave Mr C.D in a nice coat at the side of the rink, watching his student skate, eyes riveted to the ice. Or in the jacket he usually wore to the coffee shop, a sports jacket with the ice rink’s logo on it and the Russian flag, taking notes on the ice.

 

“Have you been?”

 

“To the ice rink?” Yuuri shook his head. “Not in years.”

 

“Even though you work so close by?”

 

“I’d love to but I’m usually either working…or studying…” Mr C.D unwrapped a yellow plaster from its wrapper. “I’m a student, studying finance.”

 

Carefully, he pulled the wipe away, reddish brown with blood. The wound wasn’t too deep. A two inch gash over his ankle that now was bleeding fairly little. Mr C.D lined the plaster up with the injury and patted it down until it was secure.

 

“Uhm,” Yuuri went to stand, before the man helped him to his feet. “Thank you.”

 

“Oh, no! I should be the one thanking you! And apologising! I swear it was an accident!” Mr C.D was adorable flustered, a pink sheen rising in his cheeks, hands flapping around. He took a breath, his fringe slid back so that Yuuri could see blue, _blue_ eyes, and then smiled a heart-shape smile sheepishly. “…it’s Yuuri, right?”

 

Immediately, the butterflies returned like a hurricane. The accent, the Russian accent was doing this, it was absolutely the accent. _Yuu-ri._ He was suddenly, abruptly aware of his mismatching socks, his completely dishevelled hair and that he was drenched from head to toe from running home in the rain. And he’d probably left a Yuuri-sized wet patch on the sofa. “Uhm, yes…Katsuki Yuuri.” He shifted. “I, erm, I’m sorry I don’t know your name?”

 

Mr C.D facepalmed so hard the sound echoed. “I’m an idiot – I mean, my name is Viktor Nikiforov – “ He laughed. “Not, An-Idiot.”

 

It was a dad joke. A bad dad joke and Yuuri felt like laughing until he cried. What a weird day.

 

Caramel Dr- er - Viktor led him towards the door. “Will you be alright? Maybe we should go to the hospital… or maybe I should call Yakov?”

 

“N-no, I’ll be fine –“

 

“I’ll help you to your flat!.”

 

“- Really, I’ll be fine, I mean, I appreciate it but I only live-“ The front door swung open. Yuuri stared. “-next door, apparently.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to keep this fic light and fluffy, cos most of my other stuff isn't haha...anyways, it's taken me sixth months or so (probably longer, but it's been so long that I forgot) to get chp 2 up.
> 
> Would you believe me if I said I forgot I had finished chapter 2 until yesterday? And it's been sitting there since AUgust?? Yeah. 
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading so far, I'll try and update a little more regularly >.<


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